Invictus, p.13
Invictus, page 13
“What could a priest have possibly done to warrant being killed?” That bitch with the hot ass comes out of nowhere, butting into our business.
I grit my teeth and arch my back again to look over the arm of the couch and scowl.
“Where the fuck did you come from?”
“She helped me home.”
“Then why is she still here?” I ask, swinging my legs over the side of the couch and almost taking out August in the motion. “What the fuck, Aug? I haven’t been able to get one moment with you alone because she’s always around! And now she knows. You know what that means, don’t you? Your little play slut has to fucking go.”
August gets to his feet as quickly as I do and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close and resting his cheek on the top of my head. He whispers something to Atasha that I can’t quite make out because I’m lost in the anger swallowing me whole.
A moment later, the front door opens and closes and I understand now. He’s told her to fuck off and he did it for me.
He brushed off his pussy for his brother and I begin to cry in his arms. This is the opposite of what he did when I first showed up and I can feel it again.
August loves me and he’s going to help me set shit right.
He has to because no one else can.
When the door opens, I lift my head, half expecting to see the grim reaper. I smell biscuits and gravy and salivate like one of those trained dogs we read about in high school. A familiar lanky frame fills the doorway.
Oh, just him. Close enough to a reaper for government work.
“Morning, sunshine. Hungry?”
“Fuck you, asshole.” I let my eyes drop closed, too weak to even sit up. I can literally feel the dreads forming on the back of my matted head.
“Tempting…but you’ll need a shower with a couple of bars of soap first. Spread your legs so we can take a look. Robbie, don’t be shy. Come see my mess, and you’ll feel better about yours. Can you bring that light from the corner, please?”
My eyes fly open in surprise, and I peer past him to see another figure behind him. This new guy leans in to survey me, his youthful face marred by a deep, confused frown.
“Please help me.” I grasp at his sleeve and come back empty-handed. Even so, he moves closer. “I have to get out of here. I need to call my mom. My name is—”
“Magda,” my abductor snaps, using my street name with authority, like my long-lost absent dad…if you crossed his DNA with Jeffrey Dahmer’s. “You need sustenance. Are you going to eat or let this homemade meal get cold?”
I can smell the butter in the biscuits and the grease in the sausage gravy and my stomach growls loudly. It smells so divine, but my eyes never leave my new acquaintance, Robbie. His green gaze is wide and childlike, and I dare to hope he’s been moved enough by my pleas that he’ll overpower this butcher who’s been starving me. Then we can beat him together, savagely, until he stops moving.
But when Robbie holds out my plate to me and his face blooms with a twisted smile, I see the family resemblance between them and realize that the fair-haired man who took me off the street is irrelevant…a minor inconvenience in a life full of hard knocks and bullshit. Mutilation or no mutilation, my captor is merely a minor blip on my battered radar.
This one here…this Robbie monster…he’s a fucking torpedo.
“Now that…that is a dress.”
I fidget in the dressing room doorway until the flamboyant salesman frolics over and practically yanks me out in front of the wall of mirrors.
“Yes!” his female coworker cries, looking me up and down. “Your figure looks bananas!”
I ignore her idiotic theatrics, but I don’t disagree as I eye myself from nearly every angle. The formfitting silver gown is like a second skin. With its crystal-covered bodice, the backless dress’s long sleeves cover most of my tattoos, so that ice queen mother of August’s shouldn’t be too horrified when I turn up at her party on his arm.
August sent me flowers that were probably worth more than my entire apartment. It was not a gesture of apology, and I didn’t mistake it for one. The sealed card nestled in amongst the peach-colored roses was means to communicate, in case the police were watching the house. The card contained a prepaid Visa and a handwritten message in his impeccable handwriting, which included an address.
Tash,
I’ll pick you up at six.
Dress up. A lot. You’ll have help. Try not to strangle anyone.
-A
A second, smaller box was delivered along with the flowers, and wrapped securely with a blue velvet bow. After fumbling with it for about ten seconds, I grabbed the scissors and snipped it, whipping off the lid. Inside was a garter that held a small sharp blade in a custom sheath. I giggled like a schoolgirl, and as I stroked the gleaming steel, I wondered who we were going to kill over cocktails by the chocolate fountain.
Robbie suddenly popped into my head, wiping the stupid grin from my lips.
August had asked me to leave them alone. He needed to “deal with” his brother.
Maybe he’d decided he wanted me to deal with Robbie on a more permanent level.
Maybe he wanted me to have it for self-defense.
When I’d Googled the address included in the card, this dress shop’s website came up. The sales team was already expecting me when I arrived, though they seemed a little surprised at my jet-black braids and matching nail polish.
“Mr. Grant had us pull some of his favorite designers. He made some color suggestions as well.” The male salesclerk’s eyes slid disapprovingly over my extreme makeup. “He said you’re a size 4. I’d say he has a very good eye.”
Now with the dress, underthings, matching stockings, and shoes all packaged and boxed, I’m ushered two doors down to a salon, where the expressionless team of flawless people immediately strips off my war paint and removes my braids.
Feeling like a Tank Girl, punk rock version of Pretty Woman, I down three flutes of champagne while watching the worker bees transform me into a fitting date for the former Most Eligible Bachelor in Seattle.
An hour of contouring and hairpins later, I’m spritzed and sprayed and deemed “all finished.” Unsurprisingly, August had thought of every possible thing, and when I try to use the Visa to pay, I’m told at both the salon and dress shop that “it’s taken care of.”
Frowning on my way to the car that is waiting outside to take me back home, I text August.
Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the gift card for?
August’s response comes while I’m straightening the seams of my stockings and admiring the way the silver handle of my knife compliments my sparkling gown.
You’ll need it later…for a rainy day.
I’m pulling up out front right now.
“So you and my brother get along?” I ask as I break another piece of the biscuit off and slather it in gravy. I pop it into my mouth while hers is still wide open, waiting for the food that Auggie promised her. I know he’ll be pissed about it if she tells him, but she’s already eaten half of it and Auggie won’t believe her over me anyway.
“Please? Can I have another piece?” she begs, licking her dry lips and eyeing me like I’m the Messiah himself.
“Huh?” I look down at the plate and then laugh. “Sure, I guess.” I break off the smallest piece I can and dip it gingerly into the gravy, then reach over and hover it above her mouth. I want to see what she’ll do because Auggie is training this animal for something great and I need to make sure she won’t bite him when the time comes.
The tip of her tongue laps at the bread as she struggles against her restraints and I giggle. This is actually kind of fun to watch someone else struggle for control and not have to be the one wondering when I’ll hit the pavement after falling for so long.
“Come on,” I tease her, “you can do it if you’re hungry enough.”
I lower the biscuit closer to her mouth and just as she snakes the rest of her tongue out to pull it back into her mouth, I sit back and pop it into my own.
“These are really good. Auggie’s always been a good cook—I remember when we were kids and our parents were out being grand and dandy or whatever, Aug would always have a hot dinner on the table for me. My brother’s the best.”
Magda, or whatever her name is, starts sobbing. I know it’s because she wishes she had a brother like I do, but I can’t understand what she’s trying to say due to her blubbering.
Instead of worrying about what she has to say, I take the last piece of biscuit and eat it, then set the plate down on the table next to her legs, wiping my hands on the sides of my jeans.
“Want the rest of the gravy?” I ask her, pointing at the plate. Her eyes are shut tightly and her body is wracked with tears, though she manages a meager nod.
I get up from where I’ve been sitting and pick up the plate, moving closer to her face and holding it above her.
“Open the hatch!” I say cheerfully.
Once her whore trap is open, I tilt the plate carefully and allow the gravy to slide down the side and into her mouth. I can’t help but wonder how many times she’s done this before—not with a plate of course, but with some dick that paid for the pleasure of having her suck it dry.
And suddenly I have an idea.
As I watch her tongue flatten and against the plate and lick up as much of the gravy as she can, I reach down and unzip my pants. My breathing is becoming labored, but I want to see what’s so great about this bitch that Auggie’s been hiding her from me.
When she’s licked off the last drop, I let the plate fall to the floor as I pull my dick through my boxers and begin to stroke it wondering how much a whore like this actually costs. Not that I plan on paying her a fucking thing, but it’s just a curiosity I want satisfied.
“Hey, so how much?” I ask her as my dick grows harder in my hand. I tilt my head to the side as she opens her eyes again and turns her attention toward me.
Her face screws up in disgust as she lowers her eyes toward my hard dick.
“I mean … you’re a whore, right? So how much?” I press, taking a step closer to her.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she barks. It seems that licking the gravy off the plate gave her a little bit of spunk. I don’t get what the big deal is since I’m just trying to do the same thing.
“Fuck off, you little shit,” she hisses at me.
“Wow!” I say in appreciation. I let go of my dick and chuckle as I cross my arms over my chest. I’m still hard and this will be taken care of soon enough, but I can’t help and admire her newfound attitude. “I totally get why Auggie likes you now—I still can’t figure out what he sees in Atasha, though.”
“Leave me alone,” she says in a tired voice. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“Uh, yeah, okay. Sorry,” I say to her as I push my dick back into my boxers. I reach into my pants and pull my dick up so that the waistband is holding it in place. It’ll go down on its own as long as I leave it there.
But maybe…maybe I can get Magda on my side. I have a plan to get rid of Atasha and it starts with this mangled cunt slowly dying behind door number one.
I smile gently at Robbie. He looks like he’s suffering in his suit and tie, standing next to Mother and Father, while he keeps stealing “help me” looks in my direction.
The half pout, half sullen expression he wears instead of his usually cool, calm demeanor is kind of amusing me and I feel a small pang of guilt for it.
There’s a lot of reasons that Robbie always turned to me when everyone else kept pushing him off and here I am, taking a modicum of pleasure in watching him squirm.
I let out a sigh and shake my head.
One hero, coming right up.
“August! I’ve been wondering where you were,” Mother says with a shrill giggle when she sees me approaching.
“Right over there,” I say, nodding toward the bar. “Exactly where I was when you last looked.” I raise the glass of wine to my lips and hide my smirk at the look she gives me. I’m not sensitive to being a good son to them, and I do my best when I’m forced to interact with their circus freak, high society friends, but not at Robbie’s expense.
Never at his expense.
He shoots a glance in my direction, biting his lip to keep from laughing. His eyes tell me that he enjoyed my comment much more than Mother did and I nudge him with my elbow.
“Wanna go for a walk, kid?” I ask him softly.
“Not yet,” Mother says, cutting me off as she pulls Robbie back beside her. “I have someone I want Trent to meet.”
“Robbie,” he corrects her irritably. “And I’d rather go with August.”
“You can go with him later,” she says through her teeth, a tight smile on her face. I can tell she’s trying to hold herself together, because raising your voice at a soiree like this would be considered uncouth.
All of these stiff suits around us give me half a mind to get Robbie good and loaded and let him go on one of his famous tirades.
“Want a drink?” I ask him, holding out my wine to him. He gives me a knowing look as Mother pushes my arm away from him.
“Go with your brother, Trent,” she says as calmly as she can.
I don’t want to upset her because there’s no point to it. I just don’t want her to think that Robbie is another one of the circus freaks to be put on display.
“Thank God,” he grumbles, pulling his tie off as we walk back toward the bar. “If she called me ‘Trent’ one more fucking time, I would have thrown her champagne in her face.”
I chuckle and pat him on the shoulder. He gives me a small smile, then cuts his eyes away. Something’s on his mind and he doesn’t know if he can talk to me about it even though I’ve told him a thousand times that he can tell me anything.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, leaning an arm on the white linen cloth lining the long wooden table.
“Um…” his eyes shift around the room nervously and when they fall on something, his expression darkens.
I raise an eyebrow and turn slightly to follow his gaze, then sigh when I realize he’s staring at Atasha. He rubs the back of his neck irritably and tosses his tie onto the bar-top, raising his hand to get the bartender’s attention.
“Rum and coke,” he says, reaching into his pocket for money. I raise an eyebrow as he pulls out a fistful of crumpled bills.
“Put it on my tab,” I say to the bartender.
Robbie looks up at me curiously and smiles. “Thanks, bro.”
“My pleasure, kid. So, talk to me. What’s up? Besides looking like you want to cross the room and cause a little mayhem,” I reply with a soft laugh.
“I just don’t understand why she has to be here is all,” he mumbles. The bartender returns a moment later and Robbie reaches for his glass, gulping down the drink in two healthy swigs. “Hey, can I get another one?” he calls out, leaning across the bar.
“Slow down, Robbie. You don’t want to get plowed ahead of schedule—Mother will lose her shit.”
He rolls his eyes and retrieves his second glass when it’s handed over to him, turns, and leans his elbows on the bar. I watch his eyes as they slowly glance up toward the glass chandeliers that dangle from the ceiling, giving the room a dimly lit, almost romantic vibe. He raises the glass to his lips and takes a sip before he turns again to face me, placing it down.
“So that chick in the room. What’s up with that?” he asks curiously.
I smile at him and shake my head gently. I don’t mind talking about Magda but not in too much detail.
“Scarecrows,” I reply with a wink.
His brow furrows and he purses his lips in confusion. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“You don’t remember,” I say, more to myself than him. I sigh again and set my glass down, waving the bartender away when he approaches.
“Refresh my memory,” he says, the look of absolute confusion still prominent in his eyes.
“That summer we spent in Nantucket?” I say, raising an eyebrow at him. “Scarecrows? Robbie, come on.”
“Ohhh,” he finally says, a wide grin etching itself across his lips. “That was a fun summer.”
I smile at him and nod. “It was.”
“But you didn’t even know I was coming back,” he suddenly says, raising an eyebrow at me. “And it’s not like I’m afraid of anything anymore, so I’m wondering what that’s really about?”
The only thing you’ve ever been afraid of is losing me, I think sadly. And with as much as he deserves to know, I don’t have the heart to tell him.
Not yet.
A loud laugh causes us both to jump and when Robbie glances over my shoulder to see who or what caused the commotion, his scowl tells me it was Atasha.
I put a hand on his arm as I turn to look at her and shake my head. She’s in the middle of three older men, leaning on one of their arms like she’s the main attraction at this circus, and in a way, she kind of is.
I’ve managed to keep her and Robbie apart for most of this fucking thing and she seems to be in good spirits—him, not so much.
“Let’s go outside,” I suggest, grabbing my glass off the bar-top and giving him another nudge.
Robbie grunts, his shoulders drooping slightly, as he reaches for his glass and falls into step beside me.
“August!” Mother calls out as we walk past her and the rest of the high society sideshow, but I shake my head, grab Robbie by the elbow, and keep walking.
We both need the fresh air.
He needs it to clear his head and I need it to fight the headache I feel coming. Maybe if we just spend some time together alone for the first time since he’s arrived, it’ll do us both some good.
I feel like a total asshole for not being able to give him what he wants from me and I want to do my best to make sure that Robbie knows he’s loved.
Once we walk through the massive double doors that lead out into the gardens, we settle down on the top of the small concrete stairs and take in the night sky. I glance at him because he always seems to look at things like a little boy seeing them for the first time, and I know that if I can feel anything when it’s all said and done, I’ll feel the overwhelming misery of loss when it comes to missing him.
